Pencil Full of Lead
by Hope Meijer
Summary: "Not now, Pryce. I'm about to introduce Paul Temple to Steve Trent." Collection of one-shots spanning their marriage. Paul/Steve Temple
1. Pencil Full of Lead

_Author's Note: I'm on a serious Paul Temple roll at the moment; I've got various films, books and audiobooks in the post and I'm re-reading the books I currently have, so expect quite a few more. Again, thanks to Annie London as the only reason I write these is because I know someone's reading (and hopefully enjoying) them. _

_Post-"Send For Paul Temple" - rough knowledge of the case is helpful otherwise it may be a bit confusing.  
_

* * *

PENCIL FULL OF LEAD

* * *

_"__Best of all, I've got my baby,_

_She's mighty fine and says she's all mine,_

_And nothing's going to bring me down."_

_- Pencil Full of Lead, Paolo Nutini_

_

* * *

_The nib of the pencil scratched over the surface of the paper, leaving behind a trail of flowing script. The pencil paused, lifted, then set down and continued its path across the page.

Paul Temple was writing again.

Steve couldn't help but watch her new husband as he wrote. She'd never seen him in the middle of a novel, and she found it fascinating. In her line of work, the copy of the story would be typed and sent off to the editor as soon as it was finished. Time was of the essence and she was so used to the hustle-bustle of the _Evening Post_ offices and London that she was still adjusting to the peace and tranquillity of Bramley Lodge, her new home.

Temple's process was as laid back as life in the country; jotting notes down in a little book or nearest piece of paper, maybe dictate a chapter or two, or even (especially recently) use her typewriter to get things down in hard copy.

It was all very civilised.

So fascinated was she that it took a while for her to realise that her husband was stopping his writing every so often to study her, then would start scribbling again. She blinked, focused on him, and frowned. "What _are_ you doing?"

Temple gave her a mysterious smile. "Writing, of course."

"Writing what?"

"A novel, I hope." The smile turned smug, and she was baffled.

"Why do you keep looking at me then?"

Now the smile turned into a full-blown grin. "Oh, I'm thinking of including a heroine in this one."

"Really?" She was intrigued, and marked her place in the book she was reading to give him her full attention. "You're not going to start writing romances, are you?" She hoped not. In her opinion it was only women who could _really_ write romances.

"Good Lord, no. I don't have a romantic bone in my body."

Privately, Steve thought he'd proved that wrong the night before, but she kept that quiet. "So what's it about?"

"It has jewel thieves, old English inns, mysterious old ladies and pigeons," he winked, eliciting a delighted laugh from her. "I'm thinking the heroine is an intrepid journalist from Fleet Street, who appeals to the hero for help."

Now she was amused, and she could see Temple was thoroughly enjoying teasing her. Setting her book down and uncurling her legs from under her, she stood and moved over to where he was sitting in an overstuffed armchair. He reached out and swiftly tugged her down onto his lap and she obligingly snuggled into him.

"Mmm, I like the sound of this one. Do tell me more about this heroine..."

He chuckled. "Well..." he pretended to think hard, wrapping his arm around her waist. "She's headstrong, impetuous, stubborn, won't take no for an answer, always getting herself into trouble and needs to be rescued _more_ than once..."

"Beast!" she slapped the back of her hand lightly against his chest. "Sounds like your hero has his hands full..."

"Oh, he does, but he doesn't mind. She's beautiful too, so that more than makes up for her character."

She rolled her eyes, earning a light tug on her hair. "Tell me, does the girl get the hero in the end?"

"Hmm...I'm not sure yet."

"Surely they get married?"

"Well, I suppose they could. But of course she'd be the one to propose. She's very forward!"

Tucking her head under his chin, Steve laughed again. "Well of course she would – they'd never get anywhere if she left it up to him!"

"True." He set his notebook down, noting absently he'd need to sharpen his pencil from all the notes he'd been taking. It would be more of a novel based on true events than one of his own creations this time; he found this case had been intriguing and wanted to share it with his readers.

"Well, why don't you introduce them and see what happens?"

He glanced down at her and smiled. "Why don't I?"

* * *

Pryce tapped lightly on the door of the sitting room, standing silently until he was summoned.

"What is it, Pryce?"

He leaned towards the door so his master would hear him, understanding he'd have been called in if Temple wanted him to enter. "It's your publisher, sir. Are you available to take a call from him?"

There was a pause, then, "Not now, Pryce. I'm about to introduce Paul Temple to Steve Trent."

Pryce bowed and moved away down the passage to the soft sounds of feminine laughter.


	2. Et Alia

_Author's Note: Just addressing something I've always wondered about. 'Et alia' is the Latin for 'and others' without a specific subject gender (neutral as opposed to the masculine 'et alii' or feminine 'et aliae'). Thanks to my Dad for taking one look at Steve's car in the film 'Send For Paul Temple' and identifying it instantly! _

* * *

ET ALIA

* * *

Steve's MG made its way smoothly down the narrow lanes towards Evesham, Paul Temple at the wheel. Steve herself was sat in the passenger seat, enjoying the early evening breeze playing through her hair. Summer was on its way and the evenings were warm enough to keep the roof down.

Temple was silent, watching the road and Steve knew he was mulling over the recent information he'd been given by Sir Graham, pertaining to the case they were knee-deep in. There were two murderers on the loose and while the net was closing in on one, the other had completely eluded Scotland Yard's attempts to unmask them. Steve and Temple were heading back down to Bramley as Temple had some reference material there he'd need.

As the sky darkened, Steve allowed her mind to wander. Temple suddenly blinked rapidly, coming out of his thoughtful trance, and turned to her.

"What was that, darling?"

Steve laughed and shook her head. "Did I say that out loud? I was just thinking."

He smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. They were only a few miles out now, and he was looking forward to getting some rest before heading back up to London again the next day. "Well?"

She shrugged lightly. "Just wondering why we've never had children."

Temple paused for a moment, then imitated her shrug. "We've never really thought about it before, or had the time." He turned a curious gaze on her. "Why?"

She touched her hand to his arm reassuringly. "It was just a thought that occurred; nothing serious."

He chuckled, covering her hand briefly with his, then resting it back on the steering wheel. "You do pick your moments, darling, don't you!"

Smiling, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You know me." Pulling back, she turned to watch the trees lining the lane as they passed and the two of them slipped back into a comfortable silence.

Before long they reached the little bridge at the end of the long drive up to Bramley Lodge. There was a car parked up a short distance from it, and Temple frowned. "Hello, what's this?" He slowed the car down, and Steve took the opportunity to check the number plate.

"Paul, it's that car that followed us from Lewisham back to the apartment the other day!"

"Well then, we'd best have a chat with the driver." He pulled the MG over and noted it was a Triumph Gloria – a couple of years old with some dents in the front. There was a dark figure in the driver's seat, and as he switched the engine off and stepped out of the car, Temple realised they didn't move.

"Stay there, Steve. Something's not right." In all fairness the figure may just have been sitting quietly but he didn't want to risk Steve as well as himself if there was something wrong.

"Be careful, Paul." Nodding, he approached the driver's door and opened it slowly, eyes on the figure the whole time. As he did, the figure slumped forward and he could see the gunshot wound, blood spreading across the back of the jacket. A glance at the face told him everything he needed to know.

"Good grief, it's Sergeant Townsend! He must have been trying to warn us – he told me he wanted to meet me when we got back to London!"

Steve was itching to join him, and carefully stepped out of the MG and over to his side. "That must have been why he was following us that evening – either he knew something and was put off coming in when he saw Doctor Fields was there, or there was someone else on our tail."

Temple looked over at her. "Good thinking, Steve – I did notice a tail that night but then you said you saw this car and I assumed it was just this one." Before she could say anything else, something caught his attention. She opened her mouth and he cut her off. "Shh, listen."

She tilted her head to one side and heard it; the faint sound of ticking. "Paul...that doesn't sound good."

Gingerly, he went round to the front and opened the bonnet. A series of wires surrounded a piece of machinery and even if he couldn't identify the type he knew exactly what it was.

"Steve! Run!"

He grabbed her hand and they made a dash for it, heading away from the two cars and bridge. The latch on the bonnet had triggered the short timer and just when they were far enough away, the explosion went off and they went down in a heap, Temple moving to cover his wife with his body. The sound echoed around like thunder, and the heat washed over them causing his lightweight coat started to smoke. He rolled off Steve, checking she was all right, and sitting up to pat at the patches of fabric.

Steve sat up next to him, looking out over the chaos in dismay. There was nothing left of the Triumph, and her MG was reduced to a mere lump of charred fabric and metal. Twisted metal from the Triumph was scattered in a circle radiating out from its original position. The grass was on fire to one side of the bridge. "My car..." she murmured.

Temple put his arm around her and tucked her into his side. "_That_, my darling, is why we've never had children."


	3. Epaulettes

_Author's Note: This is a long, angsty one. I wanted to address the fact we don't know much about Steve's family (or Temple's, for that matter) and played with the fact she never actually goes back to her original name, Louise Harvey, after Max Lorraine dies._

* * *

EPAULETTES

* * *

The day had dawned overcast and chilly, and by eleven o'clock it hadn't improved much. The churchyard was gloomy on a good day, but Louise Harvey (she'd decided to think of Steve Trent as her future and today was _definitely_ about her past) found that it was decidedly unnerving; the tall thick pine trees casting areas of dark shadows where they clumped together, the gravestones looming ominously between them.

She was used to death – as a crime journalist she'd been present any a fair few murders – but today was different. It was Gerald Harvey, her brother, being laid to rest in the deep grave before her, and for once the death was so personal it was inescapable.

The service had been completed in the church and now the mourners gathered out in the graveyard, surrounding the neat hole with the coffin balanced over it. The vicar stood at one end, droning the final few words of blessing, but she hardly heard any of it. Paul Temple stood to her right and slightly behind her, his solid presence and warm hand at the small of her back steadying and comforting her.

The rest of her and Gerald's family stood around her. To any other observer the group was close and supportive, but the way they cast disapproving glances her way and the small yet telling distance between the way they huddled amongst themselves and left Temple and herself in the open spoke volumes of the attitudes towards her. In their traditionalist minds, Gerald had been a hero gunned down in the line of duty (never mind it had been off duty in a small out of the way inn by a rather disgraceful little fellow) and Louise was partly at fault. Her choice of career path was a bone of contention in her family; one that had only been fully supported by Gerald himself.

A gently nudge brought Louise's mind back to the present, and she realised the vicar had stopped talking and the coffin was slowly being lowered into the hole. She turned her head to cast a grateful glance at Temple but caught the red-rimmed glare of her mother instead. Unconsciously she took a step back and found herself closer to Temple. His hand slid round her waist until his arm was completely around her and he squeezed lightly, letting her know he'd seen the exchange.

She'd warned him about the animosity in her family; her father had died when she was very young and Gerald had taken on the man-of-the-house duties. Louise herself had been expected to marry into a fairly wealthy family to support her own, and her decision to move to London and work on the _Evening Post_ was one met with a great amount of disappointment. Temple had assured her that since he didn't have much family – his parents dead, no siblings – the opinions of her own family didn't change the way he felt about her. She hadn't had the courage to ask him exactly _how_ he felt about her, despite the flirty banter and time spent together since the Max Lorraine case had been closed.

Clutching the small marigold she held in her lightly shaking hand, Louise stepped forward to the edge of the grave. The coffin lay silently at the bottom, and for a fleeting moment she expected the lid to fly open and her brother to jump out shouting, "Surprise!" But the hardwood lid stayed closed and unmoving, the only sound being the marigold hitting the surface as she let it fall from her fingers. Her mother had complained when she'd seen it ("marigolds have _no_ place at a funeral") but Gerald had always likened her sunny disposition to the cheerful flowers and she knew he would have appreciated the personal touch.

When she stepped back to the other mourners drop their flowers, willing away the tears that were threatening, she saw the long-stemmed roses and large white lilies. Had she taken the time to glance back down after everyone had left the graveside, she would have seen her marigold was completely buried under the elegant flowers, with just a small gold petal glinting hopefully up at her. But by then she was greeting the crowd of well-wishers, Temple firmly at her side. Childhood friends, most of Scotland Yard and the few friends Gerald had made since moving into an apartment building in the more popular area of London all stopped to give her, her mother and the rest of the family their condolences, and again she found herself fighting tears. She would not cry in front of them.

Temple's hand found its way to the small of her back again, and combined with the gentle smile he sent her way, she found the press of tears eased a bit and her strength renewed.

* * *

The wake was being held at Bramley Lodge at Temple's insistence, as it wasn't too far away from the church and her family home. There were hotels and inns close by (although, unsurprisingly, the Little General was _not_ on the recommended list provided by Temple) for those that needed somewhere to stay, and everyone else were able to make the trip back up to London in good time.

Cars had been organised by Sir Graham, and Pryce's catering skills had been put to the test to provide enough buffet food for the masses. When Louise had spoken to him quietly and said if he'd needed an extra pair of hands she'd happily hire a caterer to take the pressure off him, he'd told her in no uncertain terms he wouldn't hear of it and had proceeded to chase her out of his kitchen.

After the toasts had been toasted and people had started to move towards the long trestle tables set up in the dining room, Louise stepped outside. Breathing in the fresh air, she moved over to the table and set of chairs and sat down, allowing her mind to wander. She knew she only had to get through the rest of the day and wouldn't have to worry about facing her family for a long time. The church service had been organised by her mother and aunt, but Temple had offered to host the wake for them and the two women had been unable to resist his charms, knowing he'd been an acquaintance of Gerald's. Once his connection to Louise had come to light, it had been too late and now Temple was just regarded with a mix of suspicion and awe.

Two of Louise's girl-friends from her school days stepped out and approached her, settling themselves down in the seats opposite her. One had briefly been courted by Gerald, but now both were happily married; one to a banker and one to a salesman.

"Louise, darling, we wondered where you disappeared to!" one drawled.

She tilted her head up and gave them a small smile. "I just needed some air. It was getting rather stuffy in there. How are you both?"

"Oh, we're _terribly_ shocked by all this, naturally." The brunette, one Lucy Gable, patted lightly at her hair. Her companion, Nancy West, nodded in agreement.

"Your mother wrote to us and told us what happened. You never expect these things to happen to someone you know," she added.

"Of course," Lucy continued, "police work is such a terribly dangerous business. My Jonathan would _never_ put himself in such a position!"

"Just think of all the family!" Nancy agreed. "There's so much hassle in all the formal arrangements after death. Daniel says it generates _so_ much paperwork, and that's just in the bank for the finances!"

That was what Louise was dreading. She'd have to go to London for the reading of the will, and although she'd managed to book a later appointment with the solicitor who'd happily go through the salient points with her without the rest of the family present, she still dreaded the backlash that would inevitable arise after they found out how much Gerald had left her. He'd sat her down when they were deep in the Max Lorraine case and informed her that he'd filed his will just in case something happened to him, and he intended to make sure his younger sister was well-cared for.

That 'something' had happened.

"Now, Louise, do tell us what you are up to these days. We haven't heard from you in _such_ a long time, and you mother only writes on occasions such as these." Nancy's voice broke into her thoughts, and she caught the enquiring looks of the two women. She wondered how sincere they were.

"I write for the _Evening Post_."

"A _newspaper_?" It was said with disdain, and she regretted not just standing up and wandering back into the house. At least Temple was in there.

"Yes. I write book reviews and crime reports." Her adventurous nature had discovered a thirst for more challenging stories when she had started on the paper, and the crime reports appealed to her love of problem-solving.

"_Crime_?" Lucy's tone was almost identical to Nancy's and Louise began to wonder if they could actually manage anything other than superiority and disdain. "Journalism is such a _pushy_ job."

"I thought only men were _proper_ journalists," Nancy pondered. "Obviously women are the 'agony aunts', as men can't write about love or anything."

And the two women descended into chatter about husbands and love and their homes, reminding Louise exactly why she lost contact with them. She no longer shared their shallow ambitions of handsome husbands, perfect children and neat show-homes, and they would never understand her need for something more in life. Tiring of them, she looked back at the house hoping to catch Temple's eye and convey her need for rescue, but to her surprise she saw Sir Graham Forbes heading her way. His presence caught the attention of Nancy and Lucy, and they stared up at him in awe.

"Ladies." He nodded respectfully at them and they fluttered. "I wonder if I could have a chat with Steve for a moment?"

For all their dizziness, they realised that was a subtle request for them to leave, and they stood, mouthing "Steve?" at each other. They could be heard as they moved into the house murmuring to each other.

"Why did he call her '_Steve_'?"

"It's such an _ugly_ name, don't you think?"

"It's a man's name!"

Louise – no, _Steve_ – turned to Sir Graham and smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, you may have just saved me from a night of endless boredom."

He chuckled. "I saw you out here and thought you might need rescuing. Temple was all set to jump on his white steed and charge out here but I wanted to talk to you anyway."

Steve felt something unidentifiable run through her at the thought of Paul Temple astride a white steed and it was not without a small amount of difficulty that she focused back on Sir Graham's words.

"What can I do for you, Sir Graham?"

"Actually, Steve, I wanted to give you something." He reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped package. "No, don't open it now," he said as she moved to tug at the tape. "Later, in private. I know Superintendent Harvey would want you to have it. His personal effects were released today and his mother has most of them," here he gave a slight grimace, "at her most _insistent_ requests. This I saved for you." He stood, patting her hand affectionately, and as she looked up into his warm, smiling eyes, she realised that she had made another friend.

"Come inside soon, Steve, don't catch a cold."

She took a minute to gather herself as she watched him retreat back into the warmth of the house, tucked the package into her jacket pocket, and stood. Temple was at her side almost immediately she stepped through the door, offering her a drink.

"Are you all right, Steve?"

"I'm fine, Paul. I just needed a moment and it was hijacked."

He chuckled, his hand moving to its customary place at the small of her back, and she found herself relaxing a little. She liked his tendency to touch her whenever possible; a brush of his hand against hers, a light squeeze of her arm, and the gentle guidance of his palm against her back. Her observations of him with other women revealed he hardly ever came into contact with them, and she felt a small thrill at the implication. "If Sir Graham hadn't said he'd check on you, I'd have been out there like a shot."

"I know, he said." She found herself smiling softly again. "My hero."

He gave her a searching look, then smiled suddenly. "Stick with me. I'll protect you from the hordes."

And as she turned with him to face the throng of people wanting to talk about how wonderful Gerald had been, she laughed lightly.

It was a sound she hadn't heard for a while.

* * *

It was dark when the last well-wisher left. The family had felt it their duty to stay 'til the end and there was an uncomfortable moment when it had been her and Temple facing her mother, aunt, uncle, and few cousins she had. Her uncle had stepped forward.

"Louise, you'd best get in the car. We have dinner reservations at the inn."

She'd bit her tongue to stop the biting remark that wanted to escape. Temple had answered for her at her lack of reply, calmly stating that she was staying with him, there at Bramley Lodge.

"Now look here, Temple. We're grateful that you hosted the wake for us but Louise is family and you can't just make decisions for her without consulting us –"

This time, Steve couldn't stop the sharp retort. "Stop. You don't make decisions for me any more. Paul asked me if I'd like to stay a while ago and I said yes. None of you really consider my family any more so there's no point pretending. My relationship – whatever nature – with Paul is none of your business." She sniffed, fighting back the tears that were once again threatening. "We tolerated one another for today, and now it's over. You won't have to worry about seeing me again."

She was unaware that during her short speech Temple had moved closer to her and jumped slightly when he put his arm around her and tugged her against his side. She settled into him, resting her head on his shoulder, leaving the family (and Steve herself) in no doubt as to the exact nature of her relationship with Paul Temple.

"I think you'd better leave now," Temple stated in a calm, smooth tone that left no room for argument. They went, not a word more to Steve as they left, and Pryce watched them carefully through the grille-covered window in the front door once it was shut firmly behind them.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against Temple, allowing the fatigue of the day to overtake her. Temple merely turned her in his arms and held her for a moment, burying his nose in her hair and breathing in her scent.

"What are you doing for the two weeks you have off?"

The _Evening Post _proprietor had given her two weeks' leave and Temple knew she'd be at a loose end without her work to bury herself in.

"I haven't really thought about it yet..."

"Stay here."

She tilted her head up. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I want to spend more time with you, and you need a break." He dropped a light kiss onto the crown of her head and she smiled. "Come on, Steve, let's get you to bed."

Pryce stepped into the room and bowed respectfully. "Shall I make up the spare room, sir?"

When Steve pulled back slightly to look at him as he hesitated, he studied her briefly and then shook his head decisively. "No, Pryce. She'll be staying with me tonight."

* * *

It wasn't until later, when she was curled up next to the warm body of Temple, that she remembered the package Sir Graham had given her earlier that day. She retrieved it and slid back under the covers, Temple moving to look at her.

"What's that?" he asked, sleepily.

"Sir Graham gave it to me. He said Gerald would have wanted me to have it." She unwrapped it slowly, and when something slipped out and fell into her hand, she let out a soft "oh!" of surprise.

Two dark epaulettes sat staring up at her, bearing the red and silver crown insignia of Superintendent Gerald Harvey's rank.

It was then, safely cocooned in Paul Temple's arms and away from prying eyes that Louise Harvey – from then on, Steve Trent – allowed herself to grieve properly for her brother, and let the tears fall.

* * *

_Please review? There have to be more than just one reader - you're showing up on my stats!_


	4. No Good

_Author's Note: Silly little double-drabble(ish) that just randomly occurred._

* * *

NO GOOD

* * *

When Paul Temple bought Steve Trent a dozen long-stemmed red roses, she thought he was up to no good.

When he bought her a new evening dress, shoes and accessories and told her to wear them that night as he'd booked a table at one of the most exclusive restaurants in London, she thought he was up to no good.

When he bought a bottle of vintage champagne, told the waiter they were celebrating (and then refused to say _what_) and wined and dined her over a beautifully decorated table complete with elegant, lit candles, she thought he was up to no good.

When he led her out onto the dance floor, held her close and swayed with her to the soft strains of romantic music until the early hours of the morning, she thought he was up to no good.

And when he took her home, ignored all her attempts to find out exactly what they were celebrating (and why, all of a sudden, had he developed a romantic streak) and proceeded to make passionate love to her until she almost forgot her own name, she thought he was up to no good.

But when, the next morning, he brought her breakfast in bed and made some reference to the fact she'd jokingly proposed to him and he'd not said no; and when she cracked open her egg to a beautiful ring nestled in some cotton wool and he'd just looked at her and said, "Every proposal needs a ring," that's when she _knew_ he was up to no good.

And she liked it.


End file.
